Doubling up a couple thousand transactions per second would have the money in the ether before…” she trailed off as she continued the thought in her head, lost in the process.
“Have you seen any anomalies in the failovers?” Mandek inquired, picking up a strip of cold bacon and holding it near his mouth as he spoke.
“…in the failover, no.” She blinked the room back into focus. “But with the mirror out of sync, it’ll take weeks to compare the logs and find any erroneous transactions. Then multiply that by Athens, Mexico, Germany, and London…” She was talking to herself, but they couldn’t say she hadn’t tried to tell them her part of the investigation. “Running the algorithm to slow down the process rate would—”
“Okay,” Navarro interrupted, probably realizing she was in another zone altogether. “Let’s let Winston concentrate on her job and get back to the devices.”
“We have confirmation that the partial detonator found in Athens is from the Ukrainian. Matches the one they found in Mexico.” Gil Mandek, big, black, and with muscles as big around as tree trunks, leaned forward, cradling a delicate tea cup in one large hand. “Coupled with the partial fingerprints, the component materials, and the construction, both detonators have Andriy Kobevko’s signature written all over them.” His refined British accent sounded incongruous coming from a guy built like a mountain; he looked as if he would sound like the Bronx. All of the Bronx.
“Unfortunately, Kobevko has been in the wind, believed dead, for the last five years,” Navarro said dryly. “So we have Mexico and Athens with all indicators that Kobevko’s involved. Bäcker believes the Dresden bomb used Kobevko’s technique as well, although he can’t confirm this as fact. There wasn’t so much as a detonator cap found in London. Nothing useful in the debris yet. We’re still looking. As far as Kobevko goes—if it looks like a duck—” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I say we follow this thread and see where it leads us. Then, let’s layer on a few more and see what that gives us.”
“Let’s go find him,” Poole said impatiently, just about coming out of his skin, which was pale, freckly, and dusty looking, for all that he was muscled and as fit as the other men.
God, Honey thought, was I ever that young? Were any of these hardened men on the team ever as young as Poole? As eager?
“Kobevko worked with Schorsch Adler,” Navarro reminded them as he pushed off the sill and went to the cart to pour himself another cup of coffee. “Let’s see if large amounts of Semtex have gone missing anywhere in the last week or so.” He paused with the carafe in one hand, cup in the other, to nod at Mandek, who immediately started typing on his encrypted laptop.
Rafael added six packs of sugar to his scalding hot drink then went back to his chair near Winston. “Banks, call Nielson, have her double-check our intel on Kobevko’s absence during the last few years, and while you’re at it, let us know what our pal Adler’s been up to recently.”
He observed Winston out of the corner of his eye. She’d ordered strawberries, in London, in the dead of winter. Woman wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. Especially when cost wasn’t a factor.
Even though they were all on the same team, all sharing intel, she was the only one in the room with her monitor angled so only she could see it. Strawberries out of season and a proclivity for secrecy.
Dressed in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved, black top, her feet back in those kick-ass, black, high-heeled boots, she looked expensive and completely out of place. He’d never worked with an operative who had a penchant for fashion and looked like a damned model while she worked. Maybe it was the way her pale hair was impeccably and seemingly casually coiled on top of her head, or the discreet gold earrings at her ears, or the chic, elegant way she presented herself. Her
“Have you seen any anomalies in the failovers?” Mandek inquired, picking up a strip of cold bacon and holding it near his mouth as he spoke.
“…in the failover, no.” She blinked the room back into focus. “But with the mirror out of sync, it’ll take weeks to compare the logs and find any erroneous transactions. Then multiply that by Athens, Mexico, Germany, and London…” She was talking to herself, but they couldn’t say she hadn’t tried to tell them her part of the investigation. “Running the algorithm to slow down the process rate would—”
“Okay,” Navarro interrupted, probably realizing she was in another zone altogether. “Let’s let Winston concentrate on her job and get back to the devices.”
“We have confirmation that the partial detonator found in Athens is from the Ukrainian. Matches the one they found in Mexico.” Gil Mandek, big, black, and with muscles as big around as tree trunks, leaned forward, cradling a delicate tea cup in one large hand. “Coupled with the partial fingerprints, the component materials, and the construction, both detonators have Andriy Kobevko’s signature written all over them.” His refined British accent sounded incongruous coming from a guy built like a mountain; he looked as if he would sound like the Bronx. All of the Bronx.
“Unfortunately, Kobevko has been in the wind, believed dead, for the last five years,” Navarro said dryly. “So we have Mexico and Athens with all indicators that Kobevko’s involved. Bäcker believes the Dresden bomb used Kobevko’s technique as well, although he can’t confirm this as fact. There wasn’t so much as a detonator cap found in London. Nothing useful in the debris yet. We’re still looking. As far as Kobevko goes—if it looks like a duck—” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I say we follow this thread and see where it leads us. Then, let’s layer on a few more and see what that gives us.”
“Let’s go find him,” Poole said impatiently, just about coming out of his skin, which was pale, freckly, and dusty looking, for all that he was muscled and as fit as the other men.
God, Honey thought, was I ever that young? Were any of these hardened men on the team ever as young as Poole? As eager?
“Kobevko worked with Schorsch Adler,” Navarro reminded them as he pushed off the sill and went to the cart to pour himself another cup of coffee. “Let’s see if large amounts of Semtex have gone missing anywhere in the last week or so.” He paused with the carafe in one hand, cup in the other, to nod at Mandek, who immediately started typing on his encrypted laptop.
Rafael added six packs of sugar to his scalding hot drink then went back to his chair near Winston. “Banks, call Nielson, have her double-check our intel on Kobevko’s absence during the last few years, and while you’re at it, let us know what our pal Adler’s been up to recently.”
He observed Winston out of the corner of his eye. She’d ordered strawberries, in London, in the dead of winter. Woman wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. Especially when cost wasn’t a factor.
Even though they were all on the same team, all sharing intel, she was the only one in the room with her monitor angled so only she could see it. Strawberries out of season and a proclivity for secrecy.
Dressed in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved, black top, her feet back in those kick-ass, black, high-heeled boots, she looked expensive and completely out of place. He’d never worked with an operative who had a penchant for fashion and looked like a damned model while she worked. Maybe it was the way her pale hair was impeccably and seemingly casually coiled on top of her head, or the discreet gold earrings at her ears, or the chic, elegant way she presented herself. Her
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